were never good enough for her. People did love her. She had a lot of friends. They called her "Glo" or "Glodie." She was funny and animated around others. She was invited to dinner parties, and was good company as long as the the talk didn't turn to politics or religion. She loved to bake pies for people, and the whole family looked forward to her Christmas caramel corn - the best we've ever tasted!
Mom was the most popular girl in high school and she married the most popular boy. Both were deeply broken and I was the result. He was beautiful and wild, and ended up in jail. He was in jail when I was born and the marriage didn't last. After their divorce, she married a policeman, a strict disciplinarian. I think he was more like her father may have been for her growing up (although he was a wonderful father to ME), and my brother was the broken result of that marriage.
Mom played cards twice a month with friends she had known since kindergarten. She had many friends . . . until she woke up one day and decided she didn’t like anything or anyone or anything about life.
From Day One, Mom and I have been opposites, like oil and water. Maybe that’s why she gave me away. She never left the country, and I love to travel. She was a good girl growing up. I was a wild child. She was obedient. I challenged authority. Her clothes were always perfect. I’m pretty low maintenance. She was cold and distant. I'm very affectionate. We were nothing alike - and those differences were the source of many conflicts.
The truth is, mom was not much of a mother. Though she never abused me physically, there was a huge emotional void; she just didn’t seem to be able to show affection. She handed me over to her parents when I was three years old and moved away with her new husband and child. Her parents, who I called "Ma" and "Pa" reared me. I had 13 living grandparents in that little town - grandparents, greats, great-greats, and steps - and I bounced around between them. And even though it was rich as hell, it never quite made up for my feelings of abandonment. My earliest memory of my mother is me throwing a tantrum at the airport as she boarded a plane without me. It was the one and only time in my life my grandfather spanked me, simply because I wouldn't stop screaming.
I have never felt my mother cared for me at all. Maybe I reminded her of my father. I don't know. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her. She did not have time for me. When I was seven years old I came down with spinal meningitis and I was in isolation in the hospital for several weeks. My mother never came to visit. Not once. I had an emergency appendectomy when I was 12 and was in the hospital again for days. She didn't come.
Having three sons of my own, I cannot imagine her distancing. I just don’t get it. And it’s been a source of pain, a tender place, my whole life Why wasn’t I not good enough for her? That has always been a mystery.
So . . . this is a strange type of grief.
I’m grieving, it’s true.
But it’s not so much for the mother I had.
Rather, it’s for the mother I wanted and didn’t have.
Jennifer Veal said it best. “ It took a long time for regular grief to sink in because I’d already grieved her so many times while she was alive. I’d grieved the mother she’d never be. I’d grieved our relationship, grieved my childhood. Our life together had been one of pain and loss that required so much healing that by the time I actually said goodbye to her, there wasn’t much left to say.”
Mom and I talked a little bit as she lay dying. We tried to reconnect. I asked her one time why we always bumped heads. She smiled and said, "It was stress . . . stress brought out the rage."
I wasn’t sure if it was the morphine talking, if she was talking about me, or if she was talking about herself.
Toward the end of her days, I told Mom I loved her each night before bed, and she responded in kind. I think we were both trying to make up for lost time. I believe she did love me, in her own broken way. I'm sad that maybe SHE didn't feel loved as she was growing up. A difficult thought, since both her mother and father were such great parents to me. But mom was the eldest child and from what she's told me, did most of the housework and cooking and took care of the other two children while her parents worked. That was a lot of responsibility. Maybe they didn't have time for her. Maybe she just didn't learn to love. I just don't know, and now I guess I'll never know.
One night, I asked her if she could share any good memories of her childhood and her parents. She couldn't answer. She just had a blank look on her face - then a puzzled look. It was like she was combing her mind, combing her mind, but just couldn't think of any thing to share. She had a few cousins she really enjoyed spending time with, but couldn't think of one good time with her parents. That felt so sad.
Oddly, as she weakened Mom became kinder, sweeter, easier to be around . We still had disagreements but they were fewer than usual, short-lived, and not as volatile.
Did I love her? I have asked myself that question daily, and the answer is yes, I loved her. I love her deeply for giving me life. This wonderful, brilliant life that has been so rich and full of love and adventure. I loved her for leaving me with a beautiful roof over my head, financially sound. Mostly, I loved her because without her I wouldn’t have been born and wouldn’t have had the opportunity to know my three incredible sons, their fathers, and my grandchildren.
While caring for mom, there were days I felt like an empty shell, but now I am free of this responsibility, free to get back out into nature, back onto the Camino, visiting my old friends, and making new friends. I’m ready to rekindle joy!
An old friend once said to me, “Life is good! Even when it’s shitty, it’s good!”
He was right. Life IS good. And I want more of it. So I’m feeling relief that this journey with Mom is over, and at the same time, trying not to feel guilty for feeling that relief.
I know there is a more of a lesson here for me - as my heart softens towards my mother. I’m looking forward to a good long walk, and the time to contemplate the whats and whys and hows of it all.
For now, I will dig through old photos and memories, searching for the good, and grieve for the relationship we never had.
And at the same time, I will bless her for teaching me forgiveness, compassion, and yes, even love.
Buen Camino,
Annie
